


a work of art

by The Master of the Deck (officiumdefunctorum)



Series: Modern Westlands AU [3]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Hugs, LawfulChaos, M/M, Mat Cauthon Needs A Nap, Memes, Mental Health Issues, Nynaeve Does Not Have Time For Your Bullshit, Perrin worries about the smols, Photographs, Sassmaster Gaul, Sleep Deprivation, StoneWolf, Talk Shows, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unbeta'd, Unreliable Narrator, We Die Like Men, mild whump, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officiumdefunctorum/pseuds/The%20Master%20of%20the%20Deck
Summary: It's been one week since Rand al'Thor came home from the Blight, and today is a big day for Perrin. If only Mat can manage to stay awake for it.(takes place before chapter one of"Scenes from the Chaos Apartment")
Relationships: Mat Cauthon & Nynaeve al'Meara, Perrin Aybara & Mat Cauthon, Perrin Aybara/Gaul
Series: Modern Westlands AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677376
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	a work of art

**Author's Note:**

> The Westlands AU continues! Slowly mixing in some more characters and name drops. I tried not to make this too dorky, but, well. StoneWolf just does this to me, it seems.
> 
> _the trashchild grows_
> 
> (Notes, a fancast, and a discord invite at the end!)

_“Mat, you don’t have to come.”_  
  
“Fuck off, Perrin,” Mat said into his phone. “You are going on a talk show for the first time and I am going to be backstage like a proud parent whether you like it or not.”  
  
_“I know you’ve barely slept in days, don’t try to deny it.”_  
  
“That is beside the point," said Mat, yawning conspicuously. "Also, you’re already halfway here.”  
  
_“Because I’ve been spending the last twenty minutes trying to convince you to stay home and get some rest!”_  
  
“Look, Rand and Tam are going to be at the orchard for like, two entire days. I’m not with them because I said I would be with you. I’ll see you in half an hour,” Mat said, and then hung up before Perrin could try to argue more.  
  
As if he'd miss Perrin's first non-meme public appearance, the idiot. Mat thought Nynaeve might be onto something with men thinking with the hair on their chests, what with how much of it Perrin had.  
  
Fucking ashes, he _could_ use a nap, though.  
  
Mat’s nerves were frayed. He was so tired, he wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t started to experience hallucinations, something he hadn’t dealt with since the days after he’d dropped out of Altara U.

It was—it wasn’t fun. But Perrin had so much invested in this talk show, even if he didn’t know it. It had been on the books for weeks, and it was important, damn it.

Mat was going to be there for him, and for Gaul, just like he'd promised.  
  
Thinking about coffee, Mat shuffled into Tam’s kitchen, and sat down at the bar top counter. After staring at the coffee pot for a full minute, trying to decide if he was actually capable of operating it, Mat decided it was probably a bad idea. He’d polished off a pot not long after Rand and Tam had departed, anyway, and all it had managed to do so far was make him twitchy.

While he waited for Perrin to appear, Mat put his head down on the counter and fell asleep.

* * *

When Perrin arrived, he came into the house to find Mat sound asleep in the kitchen. He looked—well, more or less like Perrin had expected him to look, whatever Mat had been texting him over the last week.  
  
Light, Perrin had _known_ Mat wasn’t okay. For a moment, Perrin thought about carrying his friend to the spare room and putting him to bed, but knew that Mat would never forgive him for it.

With a sigh, Perrin approached Mat and touched his shoulder.

“Mat—”  
  
Mat started awake with a small scream, and Perrin flinched back.

Nearly falling off of his stool, Mat looked around, eyes red rimmed and wide.  
  
"Rand?" He asked, voice muzzy with sleep but panicked in a way that made Perrin's heart clench.  
  
Finally, Mat zeroed in on Perrin—standing a couple steps away with his hands raised—and visibly relaxed.

“Oh,” Mat sighed. After a few rapid blinks, he shook his head and rubbed his face with both hands. "It's you."  
  
"Blood and ashes, Mat," Perrin said, quietly, face pinched with concern.  
  
"Don't worry about it, just," Mat waved a hand, dismissing his near panic attack. "Bad dream. Let's go."  
  
Perrin sighed as Mat hopped off the stool and headed for the front door.  
  
“Mat,” said Perrin, insistent as he trailed behind. “You look like hell. Are you—”  
  
“Don’t say it, Perrin,” Mat said with sing-song false cheer, locking the door after Perrin followed him out.  
  
Blood and ashes, the man had dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked almost gray, he was so pale. The jumpiness he could attribute to caffeine, but Perrin didn’t think that was all it was. He hadn't seen Mat like this since Ebou Dar.  
  
Before Perrin could think of anything to say that might convince the man to stay the fuck home and get real sleep, Mat had marched off the porch and climbed into the back seat of Perrin’s idling truck.  
  
Thinking about the vague texts and half truths he knew he’d been getting, Perrin stood for a minute on the porch, feeling conflicted. Mat wanted to come to the taping of the talk show, but it didn’t make Perrin feel any less guilty about the timing, especially now that he could see how much Mat was struggling.  
  
Perrin even felt a bit bad that _Rand_ wasn’t able to come, even if they’d planned this weeks before they knew he'd be coming home.  
  
Heaving a sigh, Perrin headed toward his truck.  
  
As if he'd be able to get Mat to stay here without tying him to a bed, a thought that made Perrin wince as soon as it had crossed his mind.

This was just going to go _so well_ , Perrin was sure.  
  
At least there was enough room in the truck for Mat to be comfortable; maybe Mat would actually _talk_ to Perrin when he wasn’t such a zombie.

* * *

Hopper was sitting placidly in his custom, wolf-friendly rig behind Mat, and Mat gave him a scratch on the head over the seat before buckling in. “Hi, Hopper!” he greeted the wolf, then leaned between the front seats. “Sup, Gaul.”  
  
“Hello, Mat Cauthon,” said Gaul, voice as deep and placid as ever. “You are causing Perrin quite a lot of worry, you know,” he remarked, watching Perrin finally make his way around the front of the truck.  
  
“I am _fine_ ," declared Mat. "And I have every intention of spending the drive to the airport unconscious,” he added, settling himself more comfortably as Perrin climbed into the truck. “I will be dead to the world for the next three hours, so don’t skip the road head on my account.”  
  
Mat heard Perrin’s heavy sigh, and caught the look of interest that Gaul sent Perrin’s way.  
  
“Not a chance, Gaul,” intoned Perrin.  
  
Gaul made a humming noise, and looked out of his window with a small smile that Mat interpreted as Gaul-speak for: _‘I could change your mind if I felt like it, but I won’t because I think you are adorable.’_  
  
Ugh, they were so cute it was disgusting.  
  
“There’s a blanket and a neck pillow back there,” Perrin said to Mat, shifting into gear and shooting his boyfriend a look. “Gaul, don’t even think about it.”  
  
“Thanks,” yawned Mat, appropriating said pillow.  
  
Ignoring their gross couple banter, Mat hunkered down and was asleep again before they were out of sight of the al’Thor farm.

* * *

  
Mat woke to a wet tongue and a soft voice.  
  
“That better be Hopper,” Mat mumbled, blinking his eyes open. “Or me and Gaul are gonna have to have a talk.”  
  
“Hey,” said Perrin, as if Mat hadn’t spoken, pulling Hopper away and toward the open door by the expedient of just grabbing the wolf’s entire upper body. Stupid strong Perrin. “How are you?”  
  
Instead of deflecting, again, Mat sighed, slumping in his seat. Fuck, Perrin was almost as bad as Nynaeve.  
  
"Light, you are such a _nag_ ," Mat mumbled, without heat. “Fine. I’m... drained. I just—Rand is having a hard time making the transition to being a civilian again, and more than that, he’s got the baggage he’s carrying from whatever mysterious shit went down before he came home."  
  
Mat fiddled with his seatbelt strap, unsure if he wanted to drag Perrin into his bullshit, again. Peeking at the man out of the corner of his eye, he and his big dumb wolf wore near identical expressions of soulful concern, their matching eye color making it almost creepy.  
  
Light damned puppy dog eyes. Mat almost rolled his own before sighing in resignation.  
  
"I can't sleep, Perrin," he admitted. "And not always because of Rand. Things with me are...” Mat blew his breath out hard and rubbed his face. “Rearing their heads, you might say.”  
  
Silence followed, which Mat appreciated. Much as he needed the kick in the ass that Nynaeve often gave him, Perrin’s silences were never judgmental.  
  
"Is he... getting better?" Perrin asked, diplomatically.  
  
Shrugging, Mat made a noncommittal noise. "Seemed like, a couple days, but it's only been a week. I'm just—not coping well, I guess. I just missed him so much and—" Mat cut himself off as he fought the sting in his eyes, unbuckling his seatbelt to avoid looking at Perrin. "I shouldn't be making this about me. It's just fucking hard, is all.”  
  
Without responding, Perrin pulled Hopper fully out of the cabin, making room for Mat to exit.  
  
Mat scooted to the edge of what felt like a chasm separating him from the ground. Bloody ashes but Perrin's truck was a tank.  
  
“I appreciate you being here for this,” began Perrin, sincere, but with that obnoxiously apologetic air he could get. “But I hope you know I think you’re a bloody idiot for coming. You ready to get going?”  
  
“Lead me to the private jet, asshole,” Mat yawned as he descended Truckmount. “My expensive nap receptacle awaits.”  
  
As they walked with Hopper toward Gaul and the small chartered plane that would bring them from Whitebride to Caemlyn, Perrin looked down.  
  
“Are those _slippers?_ ” He asked, eyebrows raised.  
  
Pausing, Mat looked down at his feet and the slightly tatty, old-man-loafer slippers of Tam’s that he’d put on this morning.  
  
_Huh_. So they were.  
  
“Don’t judge me,” sighed Mat, moving again. “You’re a meme. You’re not allowed to judge me.”  
  
“Fucking slippers," Perrin chuckled. "How did you not notice?"  
  
"They’re comfortable, they've got soles, and I'm exhausted. Light, it's not like they're _bunny_ slippers, Wolf man. Besides, you didn't notice, either!" Mat exclaimed.  
  
Perrin shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. "You are smarter than me.” He said, as if to himself, waving for Gaul to precede them into the jet. “I’ve seen it. I know you are.”  
  
“It’s the ADHD,” Mat declared, whimsically, slumping his way up the stairs and into the jet's cabin, feeling like he only existed in two dimensions.  
  
“Aren’t you taking your medication?” Perrin asked, ducking through the door after Mat.   
  
Mat shrugged, looking around the interior. “Yeah, but it turns out that the efficacy of almost any medication can be diminished by an appalling lack of sleep,” he mumbled, the last few words distorted by a yawn.  
  
Ready to just lay down and sleep on the floor—it was carpeted, it probably wouldn't be too bad—Mat located a chair that looked like it had a full recline.  
  
_Perfect_.  
  
It was a short flight from Whitebridge to Caemlyn—a courtesy the studio had extended to them largely because it was impossible to find a hotel that would accommodate wolves, the bigots—but Mat intended to take advantage of the hour long trip. Falling asleep and staying that way weren’t normally an easy thing for him, but ever since Rand and Tam had left for the orchard in Deven Ride at the ass crack of dawn this morning, a mantel of exhaustion had descended upon him.  
  
Most of Mat's time awake today had felt like he was swimming through reality in between naps, but today was important, so he was going to fucking be there, even if he had to tape his eyelids open.  
  
Plus, there was the surprise, but at this point Mat could only hope it had panned out. Right now, though, no amount of excitement or anxiety was going to stop Mat's body from having its way, and making him take a fucking _nap_.  
  
Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt, Mat curled his body up in the chair and passed out for the third time that morning.

* * *

Worrying about Mat wasn’t a new experience, for Perrin. Of his two friends, Mat had always been the one more likely to get himself into trouble. Usually, though, he was just as capable of getting himself out of it.  
  
Matrim Cauthon was almost terrifyingly smart. Perrin thought that it might only be a grudgingly strong conscience and an equally terrifying roommate that stood between the world and what Mat could do to it, if he had a mind to. Unfortunately, Mat’s intelligence didn’t seem to extend to remembering healthy methods of self care.  
  
So Perrin worried. He couldn’t help it, the Light burn him. His perspective was just— _different_. Even when Perrin was a kid, he’d been big. Strong. It was part of why he’d ended up spending so much time in Haral Luhhan’s hobby forge, growing up. Early on Perrin had learned that he not only needed to watch himself, but that he also needed to watch _out_ for his friends.  
  
Especially Mat.  
  
It was an annoying character flaw, but Perrin just worried about people that were smaller than him. Mat called it _"lizard brain shit"_ , even if Perrin was the one more qualified to talk about animal and human neurology.  
  
Egwene just called it patronizing, which was... fair. But it wasn’t like Perrin could just turn it _off_.  
  
So Perrin had spent a lifetime both subconsciously and actively worrying about Mat. Stupid smart Mat. When he’d come back from Ebou Dar the way he had, Perrin had found himself in the bewildering position of being the most emotionally prepared for it of anyone who knew what really happened to him, if only because he had always been half ready to pull Mat out of the proverbial fire. He and Rand both had.  
  
Not that being prepared had helped, in the end. Gaul had had to physically restrain him—no easy task—from driving to Ebou Dar and committing murder.  
  
Now, Perrin was worried by how tired Mat was. How _fragile_. Mat loved Rand in his bones, with _all_ of himself, and it made what had happened to Rand—still mostly a mystery—hurt all the more.

Doubtless, Mat knew all this, at least in the part of himself that was objective and rational. However, there was nothing objective _or_ rational about Mat’s love for Rand.

Mat would want to be with Rand every moment he could, even if it broke him.  
  
It was wearing him thin, after only a week. Maybe Mat thought he was taking care of himself, but this kind of exhaustion was evidence enough of where Mat’s priorities were, right now, and it wasn’t his own well being.  
  
Perrin took out his phone and looked at it, thinking about the texts he’d sent, earlier.  
  
“You are still worrying, shade of my heart,” said Gaul, interrupting his thoughts.

Grunting in acknowledgement, Perrin put his phone away.

The Aielman bent down to kiss Perrin atop his head, then sat across from him, extending long legs to tangle his feet with Perrin’s. “Matrim will be fine, though he may sleep through your interview.”  
  
“I can’t help _worrying,_ ” he muttered. “He’s been taking care of Rand, and not himself.”  
  
“You can so help it,” said Gaul, his voice still that smooth, placid baritone that had cut right to the butterflies in Perrin’s gut the first time he’d heard it. “You only feel like you are being a bad friend if you are _not_ worried about him, which is stupid. Let him sleep; he will talk in his own time. That is what you have told me about him, yes?”  
  
“Yeah,” sighed Perrin. “You don’t know him like I do, though. Things got pretty bad the first couple months he was back after dropping out of college.”  
  
“Hm,” Gaul agreed. “I know him better than you think, Perrin Aybara. I was there too, and I am not a heartless Aiel savage from your Wetlander tales, you know.”  
  
Snorting, Perrin jostled one long leg away from him, which Gaul immediately returned to its place.  
  
Gaul and Perrin had only just begun seeing one another when Mat had come home from Ebou Dar. It had probably been the biggest thing that had held Perrin together, Gaul being there with him while his friend was in crisis.  
  
Part of why Perrin thought that Mat had an idealized version of his asshole boyfriend was that Gaul—like Mat, though he’d never admit it—would do anything for people in need. In a convergence of bad, possibly good, timing, Gaul had been present when Mat had had a heartbreaking meltdown and told Perrin and Nynaeve some of what had happened to him.

That day, what Gaul had thought Mat needed was to be held, and sung an Aiel lullaby. So, while Perrin and Nynaeve had been too stunned to do more than watch Mat fall apart, Gaul had proceeded to do just that.

Later, Gaul had told Perrin that was the first time that he’d sung that song since childhood—Aiel men only sang before battle, or for the dead.

But for Mat, he’d sung a child’s song.  
  
It had been—it had been a lot, to see that. Mat weeping in the arms of someone he didn’t know at all, but who had so much compassion. Before that night, Perrin had thought he might really _like_ Gaul, might want him to stay, see where things went.

Watching him cradle a near stranger and sing to him was when Perrin fell in love.  
  
“A savage?” Perrin said, smiling fondly at Gaul. “Never. A barbarian, at least.”  
  
“I could be a barbarian,” Gaul said, musingly. “Barbarians get to ravish coy blacksmiths, do they not?”  
  
“I am not _coy_ ,” objected Perrin.  
  
“You blush like you are barely out of your braids, shade of my heart,” said Gaul, grinning broadly.  
  
“Blood and ashes,” Perrin said, covering his face with his hands while Gaul chuckled. “Why am I the only one who realizes what an asshole you are?”  
  
“I am a master of deception,” nodded Gaul. “None will ever know.”  
  
“Such a dick,” Perrin muttered under his breath, tapping at his watch to see the time. “Ten minutes or so. Light, I can’t believe they got us a _jet_.”  
  
“They got _Hopper_ a jet,” corrected Gaul, nodding toward the wolf where he lay stretched out beside Mat’s chair, napping along with him. “You are just the baggage.”  
  
“Ha _ha_ ,” Perrin deadpanned, kicking Gaul again. “I wish you could be in the interview with me.”  
  
“I get to remain backstage with Mat as Hopper’s handler, and _then_ I will be in your audience. It is a hard job, making sure your wolf does not lick stranger’s mouths,” Gaul said, pulling his feet back to himself and crossing his leg at the knee. Perrin missed his stupid feet, but didn’t reach for him.  
  
“He’s just saying hello,” grumbled Perrin. “It’s not that gross.”  
  
“It is disgusting,” Gaul said, with a fond look in the sleeping wolf’s direction. “And it is why I always carry mouthwash with me, so I am kissing only you and not him.”  
  
“I have _never_ kissed you after getting licked by a wolf,” Perrin countered.  
  
Gaul lifted a skeptical eyebrow.  
  
“Probably,” he amended. “Honestly, it’s not that bad. People put their faces in cat’s fur, and cats are routinely covered in their own saliva.”  
  
“I strongly prefer the cat saliva, then,” Gaul affirmed.  
  
A beat of silence passed before they both started giggling.  
  
Mat stirred in his chair, and Perrin brought himself under control. Sitting up, Mat rubbed at his face and peered around the cabin.  
  
“Are we there yet?” He mumbled from inside his hood.  
  
“Ten minutes,” Perrin said.  
  
“ _Ugh,_ ” Mat grunted. He rolled himself free of the chair, probably still mostly asleep, and shuffled over to Gaul. Without any apparent hesitation, he climbed—all near six feet of him—into Gaul’s chair and curled up on his lap, evidently dropping back off to sleep at once.  
  
Grinning, Gaul wrapped his arms around Mat and settled himself more comfortably to accommodate Mat’s not inconsiderable added weight, looking immensely pleased with himself. Perrin shot Gaul a wry look.  
  
“How come he chooses to sit on _you?_ ” Asked Perrin with mock offense. Possibly a little bit of _actual_ offense.  
  
“I smell better than you,” Gaul murmured, resting his chin atop Mat’s hood covered head.

“You do not,” Perrin grumbled, pulling his phone out again and ignoring his asshole boyfriend.  
  
Damn it, Gaul _did_ smell good. Now Perrin was jealous of _both_ of them.  
  
Before long, the jet was landing at a private airstrip outside Caemlyn, and the three of them were being ushered off the plane. Gaul had tried to carry Mat out, but Perrin appropriated his friend and sent Gaul ahead with Hopper to the waiting car that would take them to the studio.  
  
Perrin knew how Mat felt about waking up in places he hadn’t gone to sleep.  
  
He gently shook Mat awake, holding his weight easily in his arms.  
  
“ _Whaaaat,_ ” Mat grumbled, peeking at Perrin, then blinking both eyes. “Wait, didn’t I sit on Gaul?”  
  
“He was going to carry you to the car,” Perrin said, setting Mat down and looking at him more seriously. “I figured you’d rather wake up before then.”  
  
Huffing a sigh, Mat grimaced and scrubbed at his face. “Yeah, thats—thanks,” he muttered.  
  
“I haven’t seen you like this in years, Mat,” said Perrin, quietly. “You’re running yourself into the ground.”  
  
“Rand needs me,” Mat said, voice firm, though lines of exhaustion were etched into his face. “And I can help. I am _helping_.”  
  
“Blood and ashes, of _course_ you are. But you can’t just—take this all on, yourself,” Perrin insisted. “Light, I barely know what’s going on with Rand at all because you’ve been all _‘I’ve got it’_ and _‘We’re fine, here’,_ when I call.” Perrin met Mat’s eyes, imploring. “ _I_ _’m_ his friend, too.”  
  
“I know, I know,” groaned Mat in frustration. “It’s just—Tam has the farm to take care of, and you and Nynaeve have work and lives you can’t just drop. I’m the professional gambler, and I don’t even have a tournament until next month, so I’m helping.”  
  
Perrin fixed Mat with a look. “Nynaeve has started texting me for updates because you’re stonewalling her; Tam is, too. I know it’s not _good_ ,” Perrin sighed. “But how are things, really?”  
  
“What do you want me to say?” Mat shrugged, helplessly. “It’s—bad. He’s as tired as I am because he can’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time without nightmares, so then he doesn’t want to sleep. He’s in pain, but he doesn’t want to take meds because they knock him out.” Mat yawned. “So, it’s a lot of sleepless nights, and screaming, and—stuff,” he finished, lamely.  
  
“For fuck’s sake, Mat,” Perrin muttered. “You can’t keep this up. I know how private those two are, but other people can step up for Rand and Tam, too! You know your Da or the al’Veres would help with things on the farm, if nothing else. Haral Luuhan would have my head for an anvil if he knew they were struggling and I didn’t give him the chance to help.”  
  
“I’ve been working Tam up to that,” Mat confirmed, tiredly. “Part of their trip to the Orchard is so a few of Da and Master Luhhan’s hands can go do some work on the farm while Rand is away, so your head is safe. There are some—hiccups, apparently, with Rand’s discharge paperwork and what it means for his ongoing medical care. Some security things that have Tam a little worked up, so he’s been on and off with his old contacts that are still active. He’s trying to get a hold of someone from command so he can give them an earful, I suspect.”  
  
“That’s fucked,” Perrin growled. “All this and he can’t even get to a _doctor_ , yet?”  
  
“Apparently,” Mat said, lifting both hands in a helpless gesture. “Daise Congar would see him for free, but Rand doesn’t want people from Emond’s Field to see him like that. Lucky for us, I’ve got enough benzos for us both. He only takes them when I basically force them down his throat, but,” Mat waved a hand, tiredly. “I know he hates feeling the way he does, so he takes them.”  
  
“Light, what a _mess_ ,” Perrin sighed. “You know that still doesn’t change that you shouldn’t be shouldering all this on your own, right?”  
  
“I know, I _know!_ ” Mat said, again. “I’m—trying. It’s _Rand_ , though, so it’s hard not to want to just _fix_ everything, you know? Tam is doing so much to help, too, but it’s not the same. So I’m worried all the time, and I’m sad, and I’m angry, and I’m so Light damned _tired_. Fuck me,” Mat rubbed at his face, swaying slightly on his feet. “I can’t get myself to like, wake all the way up. I feel like if I sit down, I’m just going to pass out, again,” Mat sighed, letting his body lean forward to plant his face on Perrin’s chest.  
  
Perrin enfolded Mat in a hug, rubbing his back briskly.  
  
“That’s because you need sleep, you idiot. You should have stayed at Tam’s house,” Perrin murmured, quietly. “This isn’t a big deal.”  
  
“Good press means funding and backers, and that means lobbyists and public interest, which is all good for Manetheren and The Two Rivers and all your furry friends,” Mat mumbled into Perrin’s chest before pulling back and rubbing his cheeks with both hands. “Besides, you’re gonna be on fuckin’ TV. I need to be able to brag to people that I was there.”  
  
Shaking his head, Perrin preceded Mat out of the plane, making sure to keep himself close enough that if Mat fell, Perrin could catch him.

* * *

By the end of the twenty minute car ride, Mat had both fallen asleep and appropriated Hopper as a pillow, his head cushioned on the wolf’s back and his hands buried to the wrists in his thick coat. Nonplussed, Hopper sat next to Mat in the back seat and watched Perrin with patience, evidently waiting to be let out of the car.  
  
“He is not well,” said Gaul, his face serious. “Rand al’Thor is important to him, but Mat is hurting himself, and that in turn will hurt Rand.”  
  
“Yeah,” Perrin sighed, waving off the driver who was politely standing outside of their limousine. “He knows. He’s just—being _Mat_ , about it.”  
  
Shaking his head, Gaul reached for Perrin’s hand and held it in his own. “I have seen this, Perrin Aybara. Too much. The Aiel, many of you Wetlanders forget, go to The Blight, as well. There is... _pain_ , and sorrow, and trauma. You see me, and you think me an unflappable _Shaen M_ _’taal_ , like my Society names me.”  
  
“Gaul, love, I—”  
  
Gaul’s grip on his hand tightened, and Perrin fell silent.  
  
“You do, and you are not wrong, but this is because I _embrace_ pain, Perrin Aybara. When I went to The Blight, I saw horror and death; I lost comrades and killed other men. Do you know what I did, when I came home to my clan?” asked Gaul, his voice even.  
  
Though Perrin knew that Gaul had fought, like many young Aiel did, he rarely spoke of it. Even over the last two years, Perrin had been reluctant to ask him, worried what it might reveal about Rand’s safety—or lack thereof.  
  
Shaking his head, Perrin waited for Gaul’s answer.  
  
Smiling serenely down at their linked hands, Gaul gave it.  
  
“I wept,” said Gaul, simply. “I raged at what I had done, what had been done to me, and to others. I laughed with the children and I spoke with The Wise Ones for hours. I slept for days and I grew a beard.” Gaul met Perrin’s eyes. “I _grieved_ , shade of my heart. All of it, I embraced. I can smile now because I did not force myself to smile, then.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” was what Perrin managed to say.  
  
“It is done,” Gaul said, kissing Perrin’s hand before releasing it. “What Mat is doing,” Gaul shook his head. “He is not embracing his pain. He never has.” Gaul looked over at Mat’s sleeping Form thoughtfully. “He is strong, but brittle. Do not let him put you off with jokes and half truths. Those who help often need help the most.”  
  
For a moment, Perrin leaned sideways and let his head fall on Gaul’s shoulder. “I might have invited Nynaeve to come, today. She’s already here.”  
  
Turning a grin on him, Gaul kissed Perrin soundly.  
  
“Not such a foolish Wetlander, after all,” he said. “Come, let us go and meet this Elayne Trakand.”

* * *

To say that Mat _walked_ into the studio would be a grossly overstating the act.

Having napped on him most of the way to the studio, Mat was given the largely ceremonial task of holding Hopper’s leash, and the wolf more or less urged him on as Mat shuffled on slippered feet up stairs and through doors into the network studio where the show would be taping in just a couple hours.  
  
Actually meeting Elayne Trakand was tempered by the person who was with her though.

Mat couldn’t even stop and run away, because Hopper pulled him right toward her— _traitor_ —leaving Gaul and Perrin behind.  
  
“Hello, Nynaeve,” he said, glaring down at the wolf who was enthusiastically sniffing and licking Nynaeve’s hand.  
  
“He lives!” Nynaeve said, sarcastically, before turning to the beautiful blonde woman who was eyeing both Mat and Hopper with interest. “Sorry, Elayne. This is Hopper,” she patted the wolf’s head affectionately. “And the vagrant he’s escorting is, regrettably, my friend and roommate, Mat.”  
  
“Nice to meet you both,” she said with an amused smile, holding out her hand to Mat. Mat shook it briefly, giving Elayne a tired smile, knowing that he did indeed look like a hot mess, but unable to care too much about it through the unreality of his exhaustion. “Ah, and here is the Wolfbrother himself,” she beamed, brushing past Mat to greet Perrin and Gaul.  
  
In an instant, Nynaeve turned on him with her classic combination of indignation and maternal concern.  
  
“Matrim Cauthon, what is going _on_ with you!” She demanded, her eyebrows furrowing as she inspected him more thoroughly. “You look like shit.”  
  
“Nice to see you, too, Neve,” he sighed. “What’s going on with me is that I need like, a hundred naps.”  
  
“Bloody ashes,” she muttered. “Mat, you are going to make yourself _sick_. Here,” she said, and reached for his face, already checking his temperature and beginning the process of peering at his eyes and palpating his lymph nodes. Mat bore it with exhausted aplomb, having endured it many times before.  
  
“I’m _fine_ , Nynaeve,” he said, when she dropped her hands. “I’m just tired, okay?”  
  
“You are more than just _tired_ ,” she said, angrily. “Don’t even attempt to try your bullshit on me. You and Tam might be trying to deflect me, but I’m not an idiot, and Perrin told me enough. I’m taking the next two weeks off and I’m going back with you to Emond’s Field,” she said, decisively. “After you come back to the apartment and get an _entire night of sleep._ ”  
  
Dismayed, Mat opened his mouth to raise objections.  
  
“Not a word, Matrim Cauthon,” she said. “I put in the request for the time off as soon as I heard that Rand wasn’t well. Light, did you think I wouldn’t? I have been taking care of that boy for fifteen years; I’d be there even if it _wasn_ _’t_ as bad as I _know_ you’re not telling me it is. it just took a while to get my shifts covered and bully Romanda into giving me the time.”  
  
A feeling that, until now, Mat hadn’t quite been able to name had been plaguing him, these past days. It had been driving him to sleep less and to isolate himself from both Perrin and Nynaeve, even to lie to Tam about how his own nightmares had been getting worse in the face of Rand’s—everything.

A familiar feeling, now that he knew what it was.  
  
Shame.  
  
Until Rand had walked out of the tunnel at the airport, body and mind hurt in ways Mat couldn’t fathom, Mat had harbored fantasies of taking Rand out on the town, of celebrating his return with parties and extravagant dinners, maybe a stripper or five. When that reunion had dried up like a puddle in the Aiel Waste, and Rand had wept in his arms, Mat had determined to help Rand however he could.  
  
Maybe Mat was more of a romantic than he thought, because until now, he probably _had_ deluded himself into believing that he might actually be enough. Through sheer idiotic force of will, through the love that he’d carried like a torch for Rand for over a decade, that he could just— _fix_ him. That Mat _had_ to fix him, and that he had to do it himself, even with Tam and all his friends right there.  
  
“I can’t help him,” Mat said, too tired to cry, but feeling his eyes sting and throat tighten anyway. “He’s so hurt, Nynaeve, and I can’t _help_ him.”  
  
“Mat, you woolhead,” Nynaeve chided, and wrapped him in a hug. She gave good hugs. “Of course you can help him. You just can’t do it _alone_ ,” she emphasized.  
  
A sense of immense relief swept through him, and he nodded. His therapist—who he’d been supposed to see three days ago, but had begged off of video chatting because he was a coward—would be saying things about cognitive distortions, right now, and Mat would deserve the lecture.  
  
“Sorry,” he mumbled, as Nynaeve released him, and he swept a hand across his eyes. “I should have called you or something.”  
  
“Yes, you _should_ have,” she said, and looked over Mat’s shoulder toward Perrin and Elayne. A tug from Hopper, who’s leash Mat was still holding, alerted him to their summons as well. “We’ll talk later, okay? Let’s go do this thing for Perrin.”

* * *

Mat stayed out of the way of the people doing Perrin’s make-up, lingering near the back of the large dressing room within earshot.  
  
“On in ten,” said a severe looking woman with a headset as she poked her head in. “Are we about ready?”  
  
“Just about,” said the person powdering Perrin’s face. “There. Ready for your close up, Mister Aybara.”  
  
Coming closer, Mat inspected Perrin’s face alongside him in the mirror.  
  
“Can’t say that I look any different,” he mumbled, blinking.  
  
“You won’t shine in the studio lights,” said Mat, eying his even textured skin. “The idea is _not_ to notice.”  
  
“Hm,” grunted Perrin. “I still can’t believe you all talked me into this.”  
  
“Too late to back out, now,” smiled Mat, slapping him on the shoulder. “You get to put Hopper through a surprise obstacle course and everything. I bet he’s excited, so don’t disappoint him on his big day.”  
  
“The way this week is going, he’ll stop to pee on the set,” Perrin sighed, turning his face in the mirror this way and that. “I’m sure he’ll—Mat.”  
  
His tired brain taking a moment to recognize that Perrin had stopped talking, Mat moved his eyes away from judging the dark circles beneath them to look at Perrin.  
  
“What?” He blinked.  
  
“Are you… wearing a shirt under that?” asked Perrin, indicating the hoodie Mat had been wearing since they’d left Tam’s farm.  
  
“What?” Mat parroted, reaching for the zipper. “Of course I’m—”  
  
They both looked at the expanse of skin and dusting of dark hair that had been revealed when Mat unzipped the hoodie to nearly his navel.  
  
“Welp,” said Mat, zipping back up. “Knew I’d forgotten something.”  
  
“Blood and ashes,” sighed Perrin, nearly pressing a palm to his face before remembering that it was covered in cosmetics. “You’re a functioning adult. I know you are. I’ve seen you do it.”  
  
“You always say that,” sighed Mat, following Perrin as he went in the direction the stage manager was indicating. “You probably even think it’s funny. I bet if I asked Gaul he’d give me like five examples of how lame you are. Don’t make jokes on camera. Stick with the hot, muscled, wolf man thing.”  
  
“I need a new best friend,” muttered Perrin as they passed Gaul, who stood on wolf duty with the studio’s animal handler. “Are you still under warranty?”  
  
“After twenty years? Probably not,” smiled Mat. They stopped off to the side of the set, the murmur of the audience during the break between bits audible from where they stood. “But that was a better joke. Not good enough for TV, but better.”  
  
“Fuck off,” said Perrin, trying on a smile.  
  
“You look like you’re about to fight someone,” Mat said, exasperated. “This is fun! Put on your _fun_ face!”  
  
Perrin grimaced at him. On stage, Elayne Trakand started to talk, setting Perrin up for his entrance.  
  
“Just think about how pissed off this will make Isam when all the donations come through for the Rangers and Reclamation project,” Mat purred into his ear. “He’s going to shit a _brick_.”  
  
As Elayne’s voice announced: “Welcome the Wolfbrother himself, Perrin Aybara!” Perrin’s face split in a genuine smile. If it was a little wolfish around the edges, well. He _was_ the Wolfbrother.  
  
“That was well done,” said Gaul when Mat retreated to stand by him. “He is not comfortable even with what little fame he has. It was a challenge to get him here; now I think he may actually put some real effort into it.”  
  
Shrugging, Mat smiled, tiredly. “Petty reasons to smile, that’s me.”

Patting Hopper on his head, and Gaul on his shoulder, Mat slunk down to the green room to watch the broadcast monitor, rather than sit in the audience. The crowd wouldn’t have been a place he wanted to be on a good day, and today was _not_ good.

Eschewing the bar, he sat in the unoccupied space at the end of a comfy looking couch, not bothering to look at who the men conversing in the other two seats were.

Too tired to feel self-conscious about his house shoes and shirtlessness, Mat settled himself more comfortably in his seat and watched Perrin as he made his way through the interview in front of the live studio audience. Though he’d missed the first minute or so, Perrin appeared to be doing well.  
  
“Now, this is the picture that got you your name,” Elayne was saying, gesturing to the screen behind her.  
  
A picture of Perrin appeared on the screen, and Mat’s heart swelled at the sight of it. Light, but even two years later it never failed to make him smile.

In the picture, Perrin stood barefoot in the loam of one of the many stretches of forest in the Mountains of Mist. Bare chested, he had his long, narrow locs pulled back from his face, and his only clothing, a pair of homespun Two Rivers woolen trousers, rode low on his hips. The rich brown color of Perrin’s skin practically glowed, streaks of sunlight cutting through the trees around him.

Bloody ashes but the man looked good. It wasn’t fair that all of Mat’s friends were bloody beautiful, damn it.

The remarkable part of the photo, though—not that Perrin’s naked torso wasn’t an absolute _vision_ —was the wolf pup Perrin held at eye level, appearing to match its gaze.

Gaul, who had taken the picture on that sunny morning, had managed to capture both the bright, golden color of Perrin’s eyes, and that of Hopper’s. The two matched with uncanny perfection.  
  
The audience _oohed_ and whistled, and Elayne turned back to Perrin, who had half covered his face in embarrassment, the dork.  
  
“Now that _is_ your natural eye color, right?” She asked, looking at him with genuine interest.  
  
“Yes,” sighed Perrin. “I think it was a rumor at some point that I wore contact lenses or that the picture was manipulated, but yes, these are my actual eyes.”  
  
“That is so cool,” she said. “Can we take a closer look for the skeptics?”  
  
“Sure, why not?” Perrin said, shyly ducking his head for a moment.  
  
The screen switched to a closeup of Perrin’s face, showing the full glory of his somewhat unsettling yellow-brown eyes as he looked out at the audience. Another round of gasps, cheers, and finally applause broke out. Mat saw Perrin’s eyes crinkle in what he knew to be a dopey, bashful smile at the reaction.  
  
“Now, this picture made it up onto the Manetheren Park’s Twitter feed during one of the weekly ranger posts that you do for updates about the wildlife and whatnot,” Elayne went on, and Perrin nodded.  
  
“We try to keep all of our work very transparent, and any interested parties up to date on what is happening in the different areas of the park,” explained Perrin, and Mat could see him settle into the conversation. Light, he would talk about the bloody park for hours, if she let him. “Manetheren Valley happens to be one of the only places left in Andor and Ghealdan with a thriving native wolf population, so a lot of our work, and mine specifically as both a veterinarian and a part time ranger, is to monitor the packs and how they are doing.”  
  
“And how many packs are there in the park right now?” She asked, with interest.  
  
“It varies depending on the time of year and the migration, because we do get packs that will move between here and other areas of Ghealdan, Altara, and even Cairhien that aren’t part of the MVNP —mostly the wolves that still live in the plains areas that have been preserved from farming—but, this time of year, we’ve got twenty-two,” he finished.  
  
“Wow,” said Elayne, blinking in surprise. “And you’re familiar with all of them?”  
  
Shrugging, Perrin gave her a helpless smile. “It’s what I do.”  
  
While the audience clapped and cheered for him, Elayne resettled herself. Mat’s eyes were drooping, and he struggled to keep himself awake.  
  
“So, you really _are_ the Wolfbrother, then,” she said, grinning.  
  
Sighing, Perrin gave her a wry look. “According to my friends, at least. The memes never end.”  
  
“Funny you should mention the meme,” she said, giving the audience a sly look. “I happen to have a couple of them here, actually!”  
  
“Oh dear,” Perrin said, half covering his face as they turned to look at the screen.  
  
Elayne scrolled through a few, including a couple that had been cropped or manipulated to be in different locations. They were solid, though they didn’t include any of the ones _Mat_ had made, which was just poor taste on the show’s part, in his opinion.  
  
“You would not _believe_ how many printouts of those memes are around the stations,” Perrin laughed. “I’m never going to live it down.”  
  
Skipping back to the original picture, Elayne got back down to business as they resettled themselves half facing the audience.  
  
“Now, this particular tweet blew up after it was retweeted by Aliandra Kegarin and a few other accounts. I think the original had more than three hundred thousand likes in the week it was trending, and the first memes started popping up within hours. How did you feel about that?” asked Elayne.  
  
Mat was trying to pay attention, he _was_ , but he was nodding off. Light, this was a comfortable couch.  
  
“It was a little weird, at first,” Perrin shrugged. “Plenty of the other rangers gave me crap for it, but because it came with a lot of people plugging our donations and sponsorship programs, it really helped boost us at the time.” Perrin gestured toward the photo. “I didn’t mind being played as a thirst trap for that.”  
  
The audience giggled, and Mat grinned where he sat, eyes mostly closed.  
  
“You made an appearance in a charity calendar, if I remember correctly, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” sighed Perrin, glancing over as a picture of him looking broody and dangerous—and mostly clothesless—next to a large black wolf came up on the screen behind them. “Oh bloody ashes,” he groaned, turning away from the photo that Mat would be proud to say he _still_ had up on his wall.

Literal wolf whistles followed and Perrin made a quelling gesture at the audience, laughing in embarrassment.  
  
“Light, you are so great,” laughed Elayne. “Not even a humble brag out of you.”  
  
“I’m really just doing it for the park and for the animals,” Perrin said, shaking his head. “Whatever I can do to preserve the Manetheren Valley National Park and affiliated projects, I’m there. Granted, I never expected quite so many people would be demanding I take my shirt off, for it, but...”  
  
The audience immediately broke out into cheering, and Mat actually gasped in his seat, sitting forward and awake once again.

 _Oh, Perrin, you did not just hand a straight line like that to a talk show host with a hot, muscled guy on her show._  
  
“He isn’t,” Mat said to himself, a little scandalized. “He _wouldn_ _’t!_ ”  
  
_“Off! Off! Off!”_ The audience chanted, and Elayne shot Perrin a questioning look. Perrin looked around helplessly for a moment before catching the eye of someone in the audience—had to be Nynaeve, what with Gaul still backstage— and standing up with a sigh.  
  
The audience howled. Almost literally.  
  
Perrin hadn’t done too much to dress up for the show, today, just a simple gray button up and black slacks. With utilitarian motions that had no effect whatsoever on the screaming audience, Perrin opened his shirt and pulled it off.  
  
Mat giggled, hearing the screams and whistles of the audience through the actual walls as much as the monitors.  
  
Holding his arms out to the sides, Perrin did a little turn, and then made a bow.  
  
After his shirt was back on, and some banter had been exchanged, Elayne had them break for a few minutes, and Mat heaved himself off of the plush couch once more.

Up next was Hopper, so he made his way back to Gaul.

“Mat Cauthon, I had thought you might be asleep, by now,” greeted the tall man, Hopper sitting placidly at his feet.

“Not for lack of willing,” yawned Mat. “Light, I can’t believe he actually took off his shirt.”

Gaul grinned. “I told him they would ask; it was part of his preparation with Elayne Trakand, that it might happen, and he did not believe me.” Gaul sent Mat a sidelong look. “I might have encouraged him, a bit.”

Laughing, Mat saw Perrin look over his shoulder at them and wave. Mat gave him a double thumbs up and he rolled his eyes.

When the time came, Mat bent down and undid Hopper’s fancy harness, scrubbing his hands through the wolf’s gray fur to make sure it was displayed in all it’s shaggy glory.

“Alright, put on your best face, buddy,” Mat said, scratching Hopper’s head. “It’s up to you to make Perrin look good.”

At last, Perrin whistled, and Hopper dutifully went to him.  
  
Mat made it through Hopper’s dignified walk out onto the set before he gave in and staggered back to the Green Room, waving at Gaul as he did.

* * *

Mat shuffled up to the small bar in the room, thinking of coffee, and the person working the station gave him a skeptical look.

“I’m with the wolf,” Mat said, seriously, pointing over his shoulder at the monitor.  
  
He got his coffee.

Sucking half of it down right there at the bar, Mat wandered back over to his seat and sat down in it, only realizing that the center space was still occupied after he’d done so.  
  
“Sorry,” he said, to the man, who was watching Hopper’s antics on the monitor. “Not trying to be the weirdo who sits next to a stranger. Just. Table,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the side table to his left. “ _Coffee,_ ” he added reverently, inhaling the scent of the bitter brew.  
  
The man turned to him, and Mat forgave himself the moment it took his brain to register that there was a _demigod_ sitting next to him.  
  
“That’s quite alright,” said a smooth, low, _cultured_ baritone. “I don’t mind at all. Did you say you were with Perrin?”  
  
Light and bloody _fucking_ ashes the voice was attached to the most beautiful face Mat had ever seen, and he was too tired to even react, let alone flirt.  
  
Mat blinked, slowly, willing his exhausted brain and the caffeine to work.

“Yes,” he managed, finally. “Friend, wolf walker, general nuisance,” he added, thankful his autopilot mouth still seemed to be somewhat engaged.  
  
Chuckling, the man sat back, observing Perrin and Hopper on the side stage where they were now going through the motions. “An interesting man,” elaborated the angelic being sitting next to him. “I don’t normally come to Elayne’s tapes; I work on another floor—but I met him briefly for the calendar shoot last year, and I’ve heard of him a few times now in other circles.”  
  
Mat _very deliberately_ didn’t stare at the man. _Fuck_ _’s sake, be cool, Matrim_.

“Right,” said Mat, keeping his eyes on the monitor. “I’m, uh, Mat, by the way.”  
  
Turning toward him, Mat was drawn back to his gaze as the man held out a hand and shook Mat’s warmly. “Galad.”  
  
The name rang a bell somewhere in Mat’s dubiously functioning memory, but it wasn’t enough to bring a coherent thought. In the end, Mat just smiled in a way he hoped was polite and not creepy, and turned his attention back to the monitor.  
  
Settling in to _not_ think about the ridiculously attractive man sitting next to him, Mat downed the rest of his coffee and focused on the flat screen.

Unfortunately, that kind of focus meant that, in spite of the empty coffee mug now sitting on the table, he began nodding off, again.  
  
Before Perrin had completed half the obstacle course with Hopper, Mat had fallen soundly asleep.

* * *

Having finished his paces and earned a bone marrow treat, Hopper sat placidly on the floor next to Perrin. Elayne, to her credit, didn’t appear the least phased by being so close to the wolf.

In spite of how— _contrived_ , it felt, to be answering questions he knew were coming, or at least things that had come from a previously agreed upon list, it wasn’t so bad to be here. Elayne had been encouraging and playful; her audience obviously adored her, even if she was playing a part.

Perrin caught Gaul’s eye in the audience, and his boyfriend grinned at him, mimicking Mat’s double thumbs up from earlier.

 _Asshole_ , he thought, fondly.  
  
“What’s the most common reaction you get from people seeing a wolf in person for the first time?” She asked. “I know what mine was, but I don’t want to spoil it.”  
  
“Their size,” Perrin said, giving Hopper’s big ears a rub. “Most people are more familiar with coyotes, especially in more developed areas of the Westlands, but wolves are both bigger and sometimes smaller than people expect. Hopper here is a Manetheren Gray Wolf, so he’s a mountain dwelling wolf. He’s at his full size, now, and he’s about average for his species. Thirty inches at the shoulder and fifty-eight in length, so on his back legs, if we stood him up, he would be nearly as tall as you,” Perrin said.  
  
“Yeah,” laughed Elayne. “He is a lot bigger than I expected!”  
  
“Some domesticated dog breeds actually grow much bigger than wolves, especially mountain wolves, so perspectives can vary,” Perrin agreed. “Hopper is a large wolf, to be sure, but the thing about wolves is that they’re lean,” Perrin emphasized. “Here, pet the fur around his neck,” Perrin offered, and Elayne did, without hesitation.  
  
The audience watched as Elayne put her hands on Hopper’s mane of gray and black flecked fur, and Elayne’s eyebrows went up as they disappeared into the thick ruff.  
  
“Wow!” She marveled. “You could lose your keys in there.”  
  
“Yep,” Perrin grinned, watching with something like paternal pride. “Wolves are strong for their size, but they’re not packed with muscle like some dogs. Kandori Hounds, for example, were bred to hunt bears, so they are big _and_ muscular. Most of what you see on a wolf as far as bulk goes is fur. Around their neck and mane it can be five inches thick or more.”  
  
“Light,” Elayne said. “That is... really cool,” she giggled. “I can hardly believe he’s the same pup from that picture.”  
  
“Cub,” Perrin corrected. “And yes, some days I wonder, too.”  
  
“Well,” she said, pulling back, and giving him a discrete signal that only he could see.

Perrin’s stomach fluttered, and he gave her a minute nod.

“It’s all owing to this photo that I get the pleasure of having you on the show,” she said, smiling coyly.  
  
Smiling down at Hopper, Perrin knew he looked utterly besotted, and that the audience probably thought it was for the wrong reasons.  
  
“Suppose so,” he said, quietly, rubbing Hopper’s head when the wolf nudged his long muzzle beneath his hand.  
  
“It’s an interesting phenomenon that this meme has had such surprising staying power,” Elayne said, moving along. “But what really brought you on here today was the picture itself, and the two year anniversary.”  
  
Perrin nodded, seriously, barely able to contain his smile as she went on. This was the part that he hadn’t talked about with _any_ one.  
  
“Right,” he said. “I didn’t think that this picture would blow up the way that it did, but I’ve always thought it was something special.”  
  
“Why do you say that?” asked Elayne, her professional display of interest compelling.

Perrin’s heart began to beat faster.  
  
“Well,” Perrin began. “This was one of the first times I ever brought a professional wildlife photo journalist out onto my ranging and it’s—” Perrin cleared his throat as he couldn’t help but glance out toward the audience, feeling like some kind of romance protagonist, and marveling at his own ridiculousness.

Well, he _had_ already taken off his shirt. Things couldn’t possibly get worse, from there.

“It was the best decision of my life,” Perrin managed to say with a mostly even voice, feeling his throat tighten a little. “This photo was taken by Gaul of the Imran Sept of the Shaarad Aiel, a brilliant photographer, a steadfast friend, and the love of my life.”  
  
Even Elayne looked a little misty eyed as Perrin caught her in his periphery, too busy ducking his head as the audience cooed dramatically at him.

Hopper made a growling snort that broke the tension and they managed to move on.  
  
“Now, we _do_ have something special in store for you all today,” Elayne said, grinning at her audience. “With the two-year anniversary of the picture and the five hundredth, to the best of our reckoning, since the Fall of Manetheren, we all know that Wheel magazine has been keeping its cards close to the chest. Well, I have the extraordinary and _exclusive_ pleasure of announcing to you all here, today, that Wolfbrother has not only been chosen as the Andoran representative for Wheel’s Scenes Of the Century feature, but,” she paused dramatically, turning around to gesture at the gigantic screen. “The _cover!_ ”  
  
The cacophony that arose as the picture behind the set was transformed not just into a magazine feature, but the _cover_ of Wheel’s most anticipated release since the Blight Documents almost two decades ago, was enormous. Hopper squirmed at Perrin’s feet, excited, as everyone in the audience roared.

Grinning from ear to ear, finally able to really let his joy show, he looked back out into the audience to see Gaul—for once—wide eyed and stunned.  
  
“Now, where is our photographer?” Elayne shouted over the audience, rising to her feet and clapping, the audience following in an ostentatious standing ovation.

Perrin couldn’t bring himself to care that most of these people probably didn’t understand or give a shit what an achievement this was for Gaul, or the boon it would be for MVNP; he was too happy to share this with _Gaul_.  
  
Leaning down, Perrin put his mouth close to Hopper’s ear.  
  
“Go get him,” he said, and Hopper got up and bounded in an enormous leap over the cameras and into the aisle of the audience, eliciting a louder cheer.

Nosing his way directly to Gaul where he sat in the front row, Hopper grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and began tugging Gaul toward the stage.  
  
Still looking gobsmacked, Gaul rose to his ridiculous near seven feet of height, and let hopper lead him toward Perrin.  
  
They clapped and hollered as Gaul quite literally stepped onto the stage, eschewing the stairs in favor of using his long legs. Hopper, true to his name, leapt lightly up after him, and dutifully walked him to Perrin’s side.  
  
“Sorry,” Perrin said, rising to meet him. “I—I found out last week, and—s _hit_ , are you okay?” He asked, catching Gaul’s hands and looking at him with concern as the man simply stared at Perrin with wide green eyes.  
  
“They chose... _mine,_ ” Gaul said, his deep voice baffled. “For the _cover?_ ”  
  
Grinning, Perrin caught Gaul’s face in his hands. “You bet your brilliant ass they did,” he said, joy radiating from every fiber of his being.  
  
Finally matching his grin, Gaul bent and kissed Perrin soundly, and next to them, Hopper raised his head in a piercing howl—and the entire studio howled with him.

* * *

Wiping her eyes for the thirtieth time, Nynaeve made her way to the same side stage through which Perrin, Gaul, and Elayne had disappeared.  
  
“Light, you utter _bastard_ ,” she growled at Perrin, when she had him in her sights. “You didn’t tell me about _this!_ ”  
  
“I didn’t know until a few days ago,” he said, still grinning, Gaul wrapped tightly against his side. “I didn’t want to risk the surprise. It was hard enough keeping it to myself!”  
  
“Blood and ashes, Gaul, congratulations,” she said, and bullied him away from Perrin and into a hug. Light, her face hardly came up to his collar bone, ridiculous tall men. “You deserve it,” she said, smiling and sniffling as she pulled away.  
  
“Thank you, Nynaeve al’Meara,” Gaul said, his voice rich and warm. “I am—I did not expect this. I had no idea that our photo was even in the consideration. I’m stunned.”  
  
“It was a controversial choice,” Elayne said, finally extracting herself from Ms. Harfor, her stage manager. “A lot of people tend to forget that I’m still technically heir to the Rose Crown. The Trakands were peripherally involved with the selection process for Andor. Your original was submitted anonymously last year, and though the committee argued about it for a couple weeks, you came out on top, Gaul,” she said, smiling warmly at him. “They couldn’t let even the memes deny you the recognition; Wolfbrother is a work of art.”  
  
“He is, isn’t he?” Gaul said, and kissed Perrin again.  
  
“They’re disgusting, aren’t they,” Nynaeve sighed, though it was with contentment.  
  
“Nauseating,” Elayne agreed, dreamily. “Where can I get one?”  
  
“No idea,” Nynaeve said, pulling her toward the green room. “Perrin rescued Gaul from a literal cage. They’re practically a fucking fairytale; it’s so gross. How is Egwene?”  
  
“The charm has worn off,” Elayne laughed as they walked slowly toward their destination. “Our last two Gateway chats have been her moaning about the apprenticeship and showing off her blisters.”  
  
“She really should call me, more,” Nynaeve grumbled.  
  
“She tries!” Elayne chided. “You are just so busy with your residency, and her with the apprenticeship. It’s hard to connect.”  
  
“I know,” Nynaeve sighed.  
  
Elayne preceded her into the green room, mostly empty considering the hour of the shoot; most people who had lingered either had to be back to work, or had gone home.  
  
“Drink?” She asked.  
  
“ _Light_ yes,” Nynaeve agreed. “My time off starts tonight, and I’m going to need it.”  
  
Elayne motioned to the bartender and signaled for a pair of glasses. “Normally the drinking comes the other way around,” she remarked, inquisitively.  
  
“Well, stuff back home,” Nynaeve said, evasive.  
  
“Home is always a bit stressful,” Elayne agreed, accepting her mixed vodka cocktail. “I should know; I live there.”  
  
Sipping her own drink, Nynaeve sighed. “Rand came back from the Blight a week ago.”  
  
Elayne swallowed her drink roughly, narrowly avoiding spilling. “You’re _kidding_ ,” she said, eyes wide. “I thought he still had another two years!”  
  
“Early discharge under Valorous Injury,” Nynaeve shrugged, swirling the liquid in her glass. “He’s hurt, that’s why I’m going back.”  
  
Hand to her mouth, in a gesture Nynaeve knew was sincere rather than just contrived drama, Elayne looked concerned. “He isn’t—will he be alright?”  
  
“All limbs accounted for, or so I’m told,” Nynaeve sighed. “But he’s—unwell. So I’m going back to Emond’s Field for a couple weeks to help.”  
  
“Light,” Elayne sighed, turning on her stool to lean her back against the bar. “Can I help?”  
  
“Not with this,” Nynaeve muttered, darkly. “But maybe with something else. I’ll text you. A bit of royal clout mightn’t go amiss with all the bullshit I’m smelling.”  
  
Snorting, Elayne looked around the room, and startled badly enough that Nynaeve almost fell out of her stool.  
  
“What?” Nynaeve asked, alarmed, “What is it?”  
  
“ _Look!_ ” hissed Elayne, pointing toward the couch on the far side of the room.  
  
Nynaeve looked.  
  
Nestled into the corner of a plush looking black faux leather couch, Mat—jeans, hoodie, house shoes and all—was curled up asleep, his head resting on the shoulder of the tall man sitting next to him.  
  
From their vantage point, Nynaeve could see that the man on whom Mat had fallen asleep was—the _Light have fucking mercy_ —Galad Damodred, Elayne’s half brother, and the Mister _Taisham_ to Perrin’s _Shaldine_.

Galad was looking down at Mat’s sleeping form with an— _odd_ expression. It was a bit far away, but if Nynaeve didn’t know any better she’d have called it wonder.  
  
Oh, that was just so un _fair_.  
  
“Galad Damodred!” Elayne hissed, startling Nynaeve out of her thoughts. “What under the Light are you _doing?_ ”  
  
Head turning slowly in Elayne’s direction, Galad smiled, appearing unphased by Elayne’s hostility, even as she advanced on him. Nynaeve followed, more slowly.  
  
“That was a lovely show, Elayne,” he said, his voice quiet. Oh dear, it _was_ a nice voice. “You didn’t tell me Wheel had given you the exclusive on it.”  
  
“Fine, yes, thanks,” she waved a dismissive hand, eyes narrowed. “What are you doing with _him?_ Don’t you have shoots to direct?” She gestured sharply.  
  
Eyebrows raised, Galad looked at Mat and smiled, gently. “Poor thing is exhausted, whatever he’s been doing. He dropped off just after the wolf went on, and I didn’t mind playing pillow. The models can wait; it’s my designs they’re wearing, after all, and _Gawyn_ is perfectly capable of keeping them busy while I’m here,” he added, giving her a significant look.  
  
Blinking, surprised, from what Nynaeve could tell where she still sat at the bar, Elayne opened her mouth and then closed it. “Gawyn is—he’s back?”  
  
“Just this morning,” Galad confirmed, still speaking softly. “I think he’s happy to be back home.”  
  
“Oh,” said Elayne. “I’ll... walk back up with you, then,” she said, nodding as she turned to Nynaeve. “Sorry about this, but I need to dash. Reene has Gaul and Perrin taken care of, so you can stay as long as you like, just ask her if you need anything.”  
  
“I think,” said Nynaeve, voice dry as she peered at Mat. “That I need to take Mat home and put him to bed. Not that he doesn’t look comfortable.”  
  
“I’ll see you upstairs, Galad,” said Elayne, and hurried away.

* * *

Nynaeve was just trying to figure out how to diplomatically warn Galad that Mat might… wake up poorly, when the man took the decision out of her hands.

Smiling at Mat, who had his hooded head tucked against Galad’s shoulder, the beautiful man gently stroked Mat’s cheek with the back of his hand, causing Mat to stir, and then blink owlishly.  
  
Looking around, not appearing to notice Galad right away, he sat up, saw Nynaeve, and rubbed at his eyes.  
  
“What’d I miss?” He asked, muzzily. “Is it over?”

Hiding her astonishment that there hadn’t been any screaming or flailing, Nynaeve put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a look.

“Yes, you woolhead,” she softened her voice. “Are you ready to go?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, scrubbing his face and pushing his hood down. The zip of his sweatshirt had gone down a bit, exposing his naked collar bone beneath.  
  
“Interesting choice, the sweater without a shirt,” Galad mused, as he looked. “It works for you.”  
  
Seemingly startled, Mat turned his head toward Galad, and then flushed to his ears. Possibly also to his _toes_ if the way his chest reddened was any indication. Though satisfied by his discomfort, Nynaeve elected to turn her back and let him dig himself out of that hole on his own.  
  
Nynaeve knew what Elayne thought of her older half-brother, and the choices he had made in his life; how they had affected their family and their relationship. Nynaeve thought Elayne was being petty, for the most part, but knew better than to bring it up.

After all, Galad was _her_ brother— _‘half-brother’_ , she heard Elayne say in her head—and nothing could fuck your mind up like family.  
  
Elayne was really Egwene’s friend, anyway; Nynaeve had just come along for the ride. Though irritating in his own way, Nynaeve had— _reasonable_ appreciation, for Galad, that went beyond abdominals that looked like they were created with CGI.  
  
While she finished off her cocktail at the bar, Nynaeve sincerely hoped Mat was in pansexual hell, right now. Peeking over at them, she saw Galad handing Mat something, and Mat looking a bit dazed. Galad patted his shoulder, and went after Elayne.  
  
Shamelessly, Nynaeve watched him walk out. It was a very nice walk. Reminded her a bit of how Lan walked, sometimes, when he was fresh from duty.  
  
Mat shuffled over to her and collapsed on the stool to her right.  
  
“Neve,” he moaned. “Take me home so I can sleep. I think I’ve started to hallucinate,” he said, putting his head down on the bar top.  
  
Snorting, Nynaeve tossed her braid over her shoulder and looked at him, swirling the ice in her glass,  
  
“What,” he intoned, without lifting his head.  
  
“You fell asleep on Galad Damodred,” she said.  
  
Mat groaned, pulling up his hood.  
  
“Galadedid Damodred—sexiest man alive for the last two years—let you _fall asleep_ on him,” she persisted, shoving his shoulder. “The fact that you look like a rehab escapee and smell like wolf is just making me so, _so_ incredibly happy right now.”  
  
Mat groaned louder, finally tipping his head back to look at the ceiling.  
  
“Nynaeve,” he whined. “Why can’t shit like this happen when I am coherent enough to deal with it?”  
  
“Because you’re almost never coherent enough to deal with anything,” she answered, setting her glass down and helping Mat off of his stool. They started toward the door and the path to the parking garage.  
  
Fumbling in his pockets, Mat fished out his phone and looked at it. He stopped, and Nynaeve continued for a few steps before she noticed he was no longer beside her.  
  
“What?” She asked, walking back to him.  
  
Mat blinked at his phone for a moment before shaking his head and putting it away.  
  
“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just—do I look good in green?”  
  
Giving him the side eye as he caught up with her, Nynaeve considered him. “Usually, yeah. Why?”  
  
“Hoodies. Never mind,” he muttered, blinking his eyes and rubbing at one with the heel of his palm. “I just need _sleep_. Where are Perrin and Gaul?”  
  
“Some Wheel representatives needed them for quotes and other shit, they’re going to be here for a bit before they head back to Baerlon,” she explained, following the signs for the elevator bay that would take them to the guest VIP parking.  
  
“Wheel?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed, then raised them. “Oh! That’s weird. I thought the national winners wouldn’t be interviewed until next week.”  
  
“Wait, you knew about that?” She asked, turning to look at him.

“Well, yeah,” Mat said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was the, uh—the one who submitted Wolfbrother for the Andoran selection.”

Mouth open, Nynaeve stared at him. Light, _Mat_ had done that? The entry fee alone was—bloody ashes. Of course he had, the stupid, wonderful man.

“I don’t know whether to punch you or hug you,” Nynaeve grumbled, as they waited for the elevator.

“Sounds par for the course,” Mat said, bumping her shoulder with his. “So, what’s Wheel doing here? Did Elayne say anything?”

“Blood and ashes, right,” Nynaeve sighed, looking toward the ceiling. “You slept through that part.”  
  
“What, _what?_ ” Mat asked. “What happened?”  
  
“Light preserve me,” Nynaeve muttered. The elevator doors opened and she stepped inside. “You are buying me a burrito on the way home, for this.”  
  
“I mean, I would have done that anyway, but sure,” Mat said. “Seriously though, what did I miss?”

* * *

Mat listened to the story, both impressed and a little sad to have slept through Gaul’s accolades during the taping of the show. Then again, he’d gotten to take a nap on the sexiest man alive.  
  
_Light_ , that was embarrassing.  
  
Halfway home, Nynaeve munching on her burrito while she drove them through Lower Caemlyn, Mat was most of the way to passing out in the car. Bloody ashes, if he kept this up, he might actually _get_ to a hundred naps.  
  
“You think they’re fucking, yet?” Nynaeve asked around a mouthful of rice and beans.  
  
“Nah,” Mat mumbled. “Perrin gets shy when Hopper is around.”  
  
Coughing a little, Nynaeve snickered.  
  
In his pocket, Mat’s phone buzzed. Slumped in his seat, he peered through slitted eyes at his message, and was pleasantly surprised to see it was from Rand.  
  
It was a selfie, and looking at it, Mat almost burst into tears.  
  
There was Rand, grinning at the camera beside a shelf holding bottles of Tam’s Brandy. The new labels for a limited edition had just come out, and some folks around Emond’s Field had succeeded in sneaking it past Tam that they were using a photo of him from years ago that they all treasured.  
  
The sepia toned picture featured Tam looking like the classic Two Rivers farmer, sitting on a tree stump with his pipe in his mouth, apple in hand.

In that moment, it was worth it for the look on Rand’s face alone; Mat treasured that dumb smile like a work of art.  
  
Grinning to himself, Mat managed to stay awake long enough to make it to the apartment and his bed, but not before he sent Rand a message back.  
  
‘S _ave some of that shit for me, I_ _’ll be back tomorrow’_

While Mat was lying in bed, most of the way to unconsciousness, his phone pinged. Fumbling for the bedside table, Mat picked it up to see Rand’s reply.  
  
_'not a chance. Da and I are drinking all of this with Abell'_

Grinning, Mat sent a laughing emoji, and set his phone aside.

For the first time in almost a week, Mat fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like a mushed three different narratives all together for this fic, but I like them all so I don't care. We've got the beginnings of some LawfulChaos, lots of StoneWolf fluff, and a nice bit of Mat whump.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, Gaul will be played by:
> 
> _Armie Hammer_
> 
> Want to talk about it? Join the [Ta'veren Trash discord](https://discord.gg/XUvCR2z) (18+ only) for shipping, fic, prompts, headcanons, smut, kinks, and general flailing about this stupid series that we all love for some reason.


End file.
